Sweetest Sin
by RinWyn
Summary: AU - Take a passionate, naïve nun with the emerald green eyes of an angel, and a vagabond thief with the eyes of the devil. What do you get? A sweet, sweet love story. No bad guys. No drama. No misunderstandings. Simply ROMY!
1. Chapter 1: Emerald Greens

_Disclaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that._

**Author's Note:** Alrighty, so I know what you're thinking: "ANOTHER STORY?!" The answer is… yes. I couldn't help it! I finished writing Rishta years ago, and I've nearly finished writing Absolute Boyfriend! I was suddenly inspired with an idea and I just had to get it out of my system… or else I'd burst. And that wouldn't be pretty…

I promise to make this story a pure, fluffy romance. If you don't believe, just read and see. ;)

--

**Chapter #1: Emerald Greens  
_"We walk by faith, not by sight."  
- 2 Corinthians, 5:7 _**

Everything was wet. And everything was dark. Had it not been for the thundering rain crashing down upon them, he was sure everything would be silent as well. As he ran, his heavy boots splashing through alleyways and narrow streets littered with thick puddles, he was painfully aware of the shortening of his breath. He was heaving, the air fighting against entering his lungs. But he had no time. No time to stop. No time to breathe. No time to acknowledge the black dampness of his soul.

Behind him he could hear the panting, rumbling footfalls of his pursuers. They were nearing him, their voices angered and strained. Through the relentless rain he could hear the desperate yearning in their movements. They wanted his head. They wanted his stained life in payment for his stained actions. Had he no conscience, he would have turned around and fought. But his own demons seemed committed to his sleepless nights. He would not stop and let the welcoming death wash the blood from his hands.

How long he had been running, he did not know. He was only aware of his aching body and the numbness in his legs. His red eyes darted between the houses lining the dank street, his vision blurred by the rain seeping down his wet bangs. He needed to hide… but where? These houses were not safe. Their occupants were not safe. Who would dare to harbor a sinner against sinners?

His body began to weaken. The trench coat on his back drooped against the downpour, pulling his battered body towards the cold, wet floor. _Non…!_

He picked himself up. He urged his tired feet to move. To move… but to where? There was nowhere he could hide. There was nowhere he could seek refuge. There was nowhere he could find redemption.

And then, through the angry clouds and the tormented rain, he heard it. The sound of a bell. Loud. Strong. Severe.

He ran. With renewed strength he ran. The houses faded and the air became thicker, but still he ran. The bell beckoned him – a lone father to his wary son. His feet hit stone and he climbed. Steps rose from the earth, carrying him higher. On the landing he stumbled, and found himself in the shadow of a large pillar. He rested his body against it, panting, clutching at his chest.

Below him – so far below him, it seemed – he heard the confused voices of his pursuers.

'Where did 'e go?'

'Did you see him?'

The bell echoed through the night air, ushering the feet of his pursuers away. They were gone, and in their wake arose a still, silent night.

With his head pressed against the cold marble of the strong pillar, Remy LeBeau closed his eyes and the let the demons in his soul walk free.

--

'_He is wet! Get him some blankets!'_

'_Hurry!'_

'_Where did you find him?!'_

'_By the door, Ah didn't know what ta do!'_

'_You did the right thing.'_

'_The blankets! Quickly!'_

In the fog that clouded his mind he could hear the voices of angels. Was he dead? He tried to move his body but he couldn't remember how.

'_He's twitchin'!'_

'_What?!'_

'_Ah think he's tryin' ta—'_

'_Where are those blankets?!'_

He couldn't see the light. Didn't they always talk about a light at the end of the tunnel?

'_Here, I have them!'_

'_Wrap him up, quickly!'_

He tried to open his eyes. Too hard. He tried to open just one. Slowly, painfully, he pulled open one eyelid. The light was very dim and he could make out shadows moving around him. This definitely wasn't heaven. His red pupil shifted sideways, observing the cold walls, the stone ceiling, the yellow candle… and then, quite suddenly, large green emeralds. _Hmm… dis can't be hell…_ he thought, his eye suddenly transfixed on the glowing orbs. They shimmered in the dim light, bathing him in a warm glow.

'_Ah think he's wakin' up.'_

'_How do you know?'_

_'His eyes…'_

_'They're… they're… _

_'Red?!'_

And just like that, the emeralds were gone. A groan escaped his lips as the glow faded and the emptiness returned. His eye moved around, trying to find those shimmering green pools. Shadows continued to move around him. Some close. Some far.

_'Ah'll stay with him.'_

'_Good, he will need to be watched.'_

'_Here, an extra blanket.'_

'_Thank ya.'_

And then, just as suddenly as the first time, the emeralds returned – and with them the sweet, sweet scent of flowers. Remy smiled as the pain began to melt from his soul. As he gazed into those emerald greens, he felt that the world was whole again, and that somewhere in it there was a place for him, too.

--

He heard the curtains being drawn, and the latch of the window being pulled. Immediately, the warm, summer breeze washed over him, carrying on it the scent of old rain and fresh herbs. He moved his head, his dream of emerald eyes fading, and cracked open one eye. The bright light from the window caused him to look away as he cracked open the other. The room around him took form – the room from his dreams.

'Ah, good. You are awake.'

He blinked. Once. Twice. The room became clearer, and he was suddenly aware of another person by his side. This wasn't a dream.

He tried to sit up, and managed to do so with much difficulty. There was a buzzing in his head and he tried to shake it out.

'Careful. Your body is still weak.'

He turned his head towards the voice and found himself staring into startling blue eyes. They sat in the beautiful face of a woman, her head crowned with a black veil. If he had not been completely sure that she was real, he would have thought her an angel.

'Where am I?' he croaked, his throat tightening in restraint.

The woman took a glass from a small table by his bed and filled it with water. Her actions were smooth and fluid, and he found himself mesmerized. 'Here, drink this.'

He took the cup from her and downed it at once. The water seared the back of his dry throat and he coughed. She smiled at him, one white brow elegantly raised.

'You are in the House of Charity.' She took the cup from him and refilled it.

'De House o' Charity?'

She nodded. 'A convent.'

He raised both brows and looked around him once more. He was in a small room surrounded by stone walls. The ceiling, also stone, was very high and seemed to disappear into darkness. The room was scantily furnished. There was a small bed (on which he lay), a narrow bookshelf housing a scattering of old, sagging books, a rickety chair, a side table, and a candle whose wick barely existed. On the back of the wooden door to the room hung his clothes. Curiously, he looked down at his body and found that he was wearing a thin flannel nightshirt. He raised a questioning brow at the woman.

'You were found on our doorstep soaking wet.'

'Who found me?'

'One of our sisters.'

Remy's mind instantly drew back to shimmering emerald eyes. A warm glaze spread through his body at the thought of them. He watched as the woman stood up, and he noticed for the first time her attire. She was wearing a long black robe that reached down and covered her feet. There was a string of beads hanging around her hips, from the end of which hung a wooden cross. The collar around her neck was white, as was her headpiece over which was draped a black veil. 'What is your name, stranger?'

'LeBeau. Remy LeBeau,' he replied, tentatively. 'Who are you?'

The woman smiled at him, and Remy instantly felt a sense of calm envelop him. 'I am Sister Mary Munroe, the Reverend Mother of this convent.' She glided towards the window and leaned out to welcome the new morning. 'You have been asleep for three days.'

Remy nearly jumped from the bed. 'T'ree days?!'

'Hmm… but not to worry. Your health has greatly improved, and with another day's worth of rest, I am sure you will return to your normal self. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need.'

Remy stared at her, disbelief and worry creasing his brow. He shook his head vehemently. 'Non, I have to go.'

'Why?'

He couldn't find an answer he could share with her. He knew he would be safe here. His pursuers wouldn't dare enter upon holy ground. And yet… 'I be a sinner.'

The Reverend Mother smiled. 'With the eyes of the devil, at that.' Seeing the contorted look on Remy's face made her continue. 'We are all sinners in the eyes of the Lord.'

Remy shook his head, hard. 'Non, but I… I…' He clenched his fists, fighting the words that threatened to spill from his lips. He tried to avert his eyes from the intensity in hers, but he couldn't fight his soul any longer. The truth, which he had wanted to lock away forever, overwhelmed him. 'I killed somebody.'

He hung his head, expecting to hear a surprised gasp, a wail of distrust, even a ranting prayer for his soul. Instead, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw that the Reverend Mother had come to sit beside him on his bed.

'Tell me,' she whispered, and as if a dam had broken within him, his story poured from his being.

He told her about his life as an orphan and how he had been adopted into a guild of thieves. He told her about his arranged marriage to an opposing guild's daughter, sharing that their union would bring peace between the two warring gangs. He told her of the bride's brother, and his hatred towards the Thieves Guild. He told her how he had accidentally brought about the brother's death, and how his family had disowned him as a result. He hold her about his exile, and how, eventually, he had come to lie on the threshold of this convent.

When he had finished, he felt depleted and hallow. He couldn't look at her, and waited patiently for her judgment.

It didn't come.

'"We are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels",' she said, slowly. Her hand had not left his shoulder, and she gave it a tender squeeze. '1st Corinthians, chapter 4, verse 9.'

Remy stared at her. He was finding it hard to believe that a woman of God had listened to his story without any notion of condemning him. What being of nature was she?

'It is not our place to judge our peers,' she said, suddenly, as if she had read his thoughts. 'We all have our own demons that we must face. As long as we have faith in the Lord, He will guide us forever towards our own personal light.' She patted his arm, seeing the wary look on his face. 'You were brought here for a reason, child. I will not believe that your path to this very convent was a coincidence.'

Remy shook his head, running a hand through his tangled hair. 'No one broug't me here but me, petite.'

She gazed intently at him. 'Was there nothing that guided your steps towards us?' On the eve of her words, somewhere above them, the church bells began to chime.

As if from a distant memory, Remy recalled hearing such a sound, beckoning him through the wind and rain. His eyes widened. 'But… w'at does dis mean?'

Sister Mary Munroe moved to his door and pulled at the handle. 'It means you have a purpose here, Remy. Stay, and find out what that purpose is.' She drew open the door and stepped out into the hallway. Before closing the door behind her, she turned and called over her shoulder, 'now rest. I will send your breakfast up to you shortly.' The door clicked closed behind her.

Remy lay back into the bed and closed his eyes. His thoughts were a whirl, but as the last of the church bell sang through the air, his dream from the previous nights returned. His dream of emerald greens.

--

**Author's Note: **Whew! First chapter done! I'm really excited about this particular story, so please tell me what you think! I'd appreciate all reviews!


	2. Chapter 2: Secret Garden

_Declaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that._

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews, guys! I'm glad y'all are as excited as I am about this fic! I promise to do my bestest!

Alrighty, now, time to get the preliminary stuff out of the way!

--

**Chapter #2: Secret Garden  
_"A man's heart deviseth his way; but the Lord directeth his steps."_  
_- Proverbs, 16:9_**

The light shinning in through the large, stained glass windows spread a staccato of colour on the stone floor. As he hurried to keep up with Sister Mary Munroe's quick strides, Remy marveled at the environment around him. The Reverend Mother had burst into his room at the crack of dawn, urging him to get up and greet the new day. He had begrudgingly complied. She had prepared his clothes for him. He had found his jeans patched and wrung, and his white t-shirt starched and ironed. After dressing – he had decided to leave his trench coat behind in his room – he had followed Sister Mary Munroe out into the hallway, and she began giving him a tour of the convent.

Two hours later and Remy was still in awe. They had started the tour with the Church. Remy was surprised to find that the convent – the House of Charity – was attached to one. Seeing his surprise, Sister Mary Munroe began a long lecture on the differences between convents and monasteries, the latter of which was a solitary building for a different type of nun. Remy only pretended to listen as he let his eyes take in the beauty around him. The Church wasn't as large as some of the ones he had seen before, but it was one of the most beautiful. The high, cloistered ceiling protected a very simple décor. The apse(1) had a vaulted dome from which hung a large gilded cross, and before it stood a solid, wooden alter draped with a blood-red cloth. Two rows of cedar pews swam through the center of the Church atop a smooth, stone floor. Large, arched windows that spanned from floor to ceiling lined both walls, each pane stained with a biblical story. As Remy had passed between them he found himself hard-pressed to recognize even two of those tales.

Behind the Church, amidst lively gardens, a pillared corridor – through which they now walked – led to the convent where the nuns of the House of Charity resided. Like his room, the convent was sparsely furnished. Sister Mary Munroe had to remind Remy that such worldly goods were left behind when the Lord called his children to heaven, and also that the nuns sacrificed convenience so that someone, somewhere, may be blessed with it instead.

She led him through the living quarters and through the hall of statues. She showed him where the library was ('I t'ought de Bible was de on'y book you femme read…') and where the common living space was. He found a few nuns playing chess, and some more by the window darning socks. Sub-consciously, Remy searched for emerald green eyes. He found none.

'And now,' Sister Mary Munroe was saying, 'it is time we end the tour with my favourite room.' She pushed open a thick, wooden door and ushered Remy inside. 'The kitchen.'

Remy stood facing a large, oak table on which were placed cutting boards, knives, and an assortment of vegetables. On the left of the table sat snuggly a huge stone fireplace. The opening was charred and the rug on the floor in front of it was covered with soot. Directly opposite was a pair of windows, and between the windows a wooden back door. On the back wall, opposite from where Remy stood, was a large stone counter complete with sink and stove. Behind this counter stood a nun with – much to Remy's disappointment – shocking _violet_ eyes.

'It's about time!' exclaimed this nun, brandishing a large daikon. 'I thought you'd never bring the boy down to meet me.'

'What boy?!' came a voice from outside. Through one of the windows popped a female head covered in a thick mane of red hair. Having gotten used to seeing women dressed in traditional nun attire, Remy was shocked to see a woman dressed in civilian clothing with her head uncovered.

Sister Mary Munroe ushered Remy into a chair at the large oak table and moved behind the counter with the violet-eyed nun. 'This is Sister Mary Elizabeth, our cook here in the House of Charity,' she said, placing a hand on the Sister's shoulder. 'And that head in the window belongs to Mrs. Jean Grey-Summers. Girls, I would like you to meet Remy LeBeau.'

'I deliver the groceries here,' explained the redhead, flashing Remy a ravishing smile. 'I own a small grocery store in the village.'

Remy's heart had stopped at the sight of her. There, staring back at him, were startling green eyes. As he looked into them, however, he found that they were lacking. They weren't the eyes from his dreams. They weren't _emerald_ green…

He hid his disappointment by giving Jean a dashing smile. 'Charmed, petite.'

'We've been _dying_ to meet you, Jean and I,' added Sister Mary Elizabeth. 'There are all sorts of rumours flying around about you!'

Remy gaped at her. Sister Mary Elizabeth, although dressed exactly like the Reverand Mother – except for the apron tied around her waist – seemed a complete contrast to the other. She seemed a lot livelier, and certainly didn't come off as being pious.

'Remy be sure all de rumours, dey be true,' he said, and winked at her.

Sister Mary Elizabeth giggled and waved a hand before her. 'The one about you being good looking certainly is.'

Sister Mary Munroe rolled her eyes. 'You will have to excuse Sister Mary Elizabeth,' she said, seeing the surprised look on Remy's face. 'She has not taken her permanent Solemn Vows yet.'

'Solemn Vows?' Remy repeated, curiously.

Sister Mary Elizabeth pouted at Sister Mary Munroe. 'The Reverend Mother just likes to rub in that I'm not as hardcore as she is,' she said, sounding exasperated. 'There are different stages a nun goes through in order to devote herself completely to Christ. I've taken my temporary vows, I still need to take Solemn ones.'

'And I patiently await the day,' said Sister Mary Munroe, winking at Jean.

Sister Mary Elizabeth rolled her eyes. 'I am who I am, Reverand Mother. Even when I take my Solemn Vows, I won't lie to myself by pretending to be someone I'm not. Just because I express my delight in seeing a handsome man sitting at my kitchen table, doesn't mean I love the Lord any less than you do. And oh, you can call me Sister Betsy,' she added, turning to Remy once more. 'There are ever so many Sister Marys going around that it's easier just to call us by our birth names. We all do. At least, behind closed doors, that is. When in Church I'm Sister Mary Elizabeth.' She turned unceremoniously to her stove. 'Now, time to feed you.'

Remy saw a knowing grin pass between the Reverend Mother and Jean over Sister Betsy's words, and felt a lot more at ease. It was nice to witness a casual, candid exchange among such religious human beings. They were part of a sisterhood, and although their thoughts and allegiance were devoted to their God, they were still able to share a good laugh among each other's company. Remy had been afraid that he would have to live a stiff, dull life during his stay at the convent, but he was glad this wouldn't be the case. Even the Reverend Mother seemed to have a sense of humour.

'So how long are you planning on staying here, Remy?' Jean asked, coming in through the back door and setting a basket of fresh fruit on the oak table.

Remy shrugged. 'Until de time is right t' leave.'

'Ah, we have a drifter in our presence,' said Sister Betsy, sliding a plate of gruel in front of him.

Remy stared down at his plate. '_Looks like de sisters like to give up dere meals for de needy, too…_' he thought.

'Dinner is usually a better meal,' Sister Betsy said, seeing the expression on his face. 'We eat only what's needed to survive.'

Sister Munroe joined Remy at the table. 'As I have said before, you are welcome to stay for as long as you need.' She gave Remy a meaningful look, and he nodded appreciatively in response. He still remembered clearly their conversation from the night before.

'So, has the Reverend Mother shown you around? Have you seen the Church yet?' asked Jean, resting her elbows on the table. 'I've been attending mass here since I was a little girl. It's a beautiful place.'

Remy nodded his head in agreement. 'Can't say I'm much o' de holy man, but I know de beauty when I see it.' He spooned some gruel into his mouth and was surprised that it tasted far better than it looked.

'Did the Reverend Mother tell you about the locked gate?' asked Sister Betsy, who was now rinsing a pan at the sink.

'Oh! I knew I was forgetting something!' said Sister Munroe, putting down her own spoon.

Remy raised a brow. 'De locked gate?'

Sister Munroe nodded her head. 'There is an old gate, just off the corridor between the Church and the convent. It is always locked in the summer, and you are not to go near it.'

'How come?' he asked, his interest peaking. Telling a thief to stay away from a locked door was equivalent to inviting him to the challenge.

'That is none of your concern,' she replied, shortly.

Remy turned his attention back to his breakfast. What was so special about this locked gate? Had he been anywhere else he would have been tempted to try his hand at opening it, but because he was here, in the House of Charity and in the presence of nuns, he decided to let his temptation slide. What could these poor, defenseless women of God possibly have behind that gate that he would want?

Before he could assure the Reverend Mother that he would stay away from the gate, the door to the kitchen opened and in strode a man.

'Have any of you seen Sister Mary Rose?'

Remy looked up, surprised to see a man there. He had gotten so accustomed to seeing women that he had forgotten to consider that he might not be the only man hanging around. Unlike Remy, however, this man looked like he belonged at the House of Charity. He was wearing a long robe of gray that hung down to the floor. Like the nuns, he was wearing beads around his waist with the signature wooden cross. His head was uncovered, and Remy could see gentle eyes taking in the scene under a mane of dark hair.

'Oh, stop calling her that. You know she hates it,' said Sister Betsy in reply to the man's inquiry.

The man frowned. 'Vas? But das is dehr name given to her by dehr Reverend Mother.' He looked around at Sister Munroe apologetically, and then at Jean with mild surprise. 'Ah! Frau Summers! Guten morgen(2).'

'Good morning, Brother Wagner,' said Jean, cheerfully.

The man's eyes then fell on Remy, with even more surprise. 'Oh! Herr LeBeau! You are awake!'

Remy eyed the man warily. He was sure they had never met before, and yet this man knew his name.

'This is Brother Kurt Wagner,' Sister Munroe explained. 'He preaches in the Church on Sundays. He was there when Sister Mary Rose found you on our doorstep.'

Remy stood up and shook the man's hand. 'T'anks for helping me dat night, homme,' he said, unsure how to greet the monk.

The man gave Remy a warm, welcoming smile. 'I hope you are well rested, young man,' he said, clamping Remy on the shoulder. 'These vomen are a force to be reckoned mit!'

Remy suppressed a chuckle. He had the feeling he and this monk were going to get along just fine.

'I better get back to my vork,' Brother Wagner said, moving towards the kitchen door. 'If any of you see my sister, tell her I was looking for her.'

'We will,' Sister Betsy called out from somewhere behind the counter.

'Danke!'

When the door had closed, Remy turned to the Reverend Mother. 'Brot'er Wagner seems to be a cool guy.'

Sister Munroe smiled. 'He is a very sweet man with a kindred soul. He is kind to others and open to strangers.'

'Yes, totally unlike his sister,' Jean added. 'I wonder where she is today.'

'She is best left to her own devices,' said the Reverend Mother, standing up from the table. 'Now, it is nearly nine o'clock, and there is much to be done before noon.' She turned to Remy. 'You may spend the afternoon resting, or you may spend it exploring the convent. I will leave that to you. Just be careful not to over exert yourself. I can tell you are still lacking strength.'

Remy ran a hand through his hair and gave her a smile. 'T'anks for everyt'ing, Sister Munroe.'

The Reverend Mother smiled in return. 'It is my duty. Now, keep out of trouble. I have heard naughty things about your Cajuns!'

Remy let out a hearty laugh as the Reverend Mother departed. His bid his dues to Sister Betsy and Jean, and then lounged out into the hall with one goal in mind. From what he had gathered from the conversation in the kitchen, it had been Brother Wagner's sister – this Sister Mary Rose – who had saved him that rainy night. He wanted to find her. He was sure, by some uncanny comprehension, that she was the one he had been searching for since this morning, and the one who had haunted his dreams. The one with the emerald green eyes.

--

Remy yawned, lifting his arms in a stretch as he walked through the corridor between the Church and the convent. He had spent the last half hour roaming about the grounds, searching for a nun with emerald green eyes. He didn't find her, but he did come across many other pleasant sisters. The convent seemed to house about twenty nuns ranging from all age groups. He was also surprised to find young local girls walking around, who were either visiting or had come for lessons. He had learned that the nuns were very active in the community and offered various classes to the local children.

Remy chuckled to himself amusedly as he opened a door off the corridor and entered a garden. Here he was, in a house full of women – a dream come true – but they were either too young for him or had already pledged themselves to Christ. He found it rather ironic.

He stepped out into a garden, admiring the perfectly trimmed hedges and strategically plotted flowers. He continued to walk along a large, stone wall that surrounded one side of the garden. The stones in the wall were large and haphazardly cut with a thin layer of moss scattering the surface. As he walked along it, his mind once again wandering to the emerald eyes of his dreams, he marveled at the silence that had drifted around him. Here, outside in this remote garden, he found himself alone with the beauty of the world. He closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun. Like this, he could forget who he was, and where he had come from. Like this, he could feel the absence of the cold in his heart, and relish in the possibility that his damned soul could be saved.

As his thoughts shifted to pleasanter times, a sudden sound reached his ears. He tilted his head to one side, his eyes still closed but his ears perked. It was the sound of someone humming. He narrowed his brow in concentration. The voice was soft and delicate, the hummed song haunted and sad. He felt drawn to it. He opened his eyes and looked around the garden. He moved hither and thither, but there was no one there.

He was alone.

He lifted his head and concentrated on the sound once more. The humming continued, but it was becoming fainter now. Remy felt the beat of his heart quicken. He didn't want the humming to stop. Like a siren, the beautiful song led him towards the wall. He pressed his ear against the cold rock surface, straining to hear. His red eyes widened. The sound was coming from behind it. He pulled back and looked up. The wall loomed over him, and with a frustrated sigh he realized that it would be impossible to jump over it. There had to be another way.

He began to walk the length of the wall, his hand trailing against the stones in search of something – anything. Then, quite suddenly, his hand ran over a different texture. There, nestled snuggly between two stone pillars, was an old gate. It was carved from wood and the edges were splintered and rundown with age. The hinges had long since rusted, and there was a crusty looking padlock hooped through the gate's handle. Remy tried to open it, but the padlock creaked in protest. He had half a mind to pick the lock – after all, the task wouldn't be that difficult for a master thief. But then a sudden warning wrung through his ears. It was from Sister Betsy and Sister Munroe, warning him to stay away from a locked gate.

Remy's eyes roamed over the dilapidated door. Was this that very gate? He tried to take a step back, eager to avoid breaking the Sisters' trust. Even the humming of that haunted song had stopped. And yet, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. The curiosity was too great, and before he could stop himself, Remy had climbed up the surface of the gate and had jumped over to the other side.

He landed on his feet with a quiet thud, as only a master thief could. He stood up slowly, his eyes taking in his surroundings. He found himself in a small courtyard – yet another garden – but unlike the one he had just come from, this one was wild and free. The ground was laid with large stone tiles. Through the cracks rose long weeds and tiny, white flowers. There were old, looming willow trees in each corner, the branches weeping low enough to brush the surface of the ground. Where there was no stone, the ground sprouted up flowers of every colour and of every make. The petals swayed in a gentle breeze, casting their scent up into the warm air. At the very centre of the garden was a brilliant stone fountain. It was carved in the form of a cherub, and from its tiny hands poured shimmering crystal water.

And then, as if he had been waiting his entire life for this one moment, Remy saw a girl. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, running her hand over the surface of the water. She seemed oblivious to his presence, and although his trained instinct urged him to disappear into the shadows, Remy's feet remained rooted to the spot. He wasn't exactly sure when his heart had stopped beating… but it didn't matter. Although he was vaguely aware of her religious attire, he was captivated by the sweetness in the air around her.

Remy watched her, entranced, as she stood from where she was sitting and pulled the black headdress away from her head. Dark curls of auburn flowed down her back, bouncing to a stop just above her waist. Her bangs were tainted white and the sun seemed to marvel in the richness of her mane as it caressed each silky strand.

He watched her walk – a vision of pure grace - with his lips slightly parted. She seemed very idle in her movements, her face tilted upwards as if she were basking in the warm sunlight. Every now and then she would bend down and lift a flower blossom to her lips, her smooth hair falling over one shoulder. Remy couldn't even remind himself to breathe, so immersed was he in her every movement.

The young nun was moving towards a small enclosure barred from vision by a wood-paneled wall. He followed her, his footsteps soundless, his eyes hypnotized by the swaying of her black gown. The scent of her was in the air and he inhaled it, slowly, his hand moving up to rest on his chest. He watched curiously as her hands disappeared into the many folds of her robes and Remy suddenly heard the distinct sound of a zipper.

He froze... as the robe loosened and then fell towards the ground.

Surely, somewhere, a pile of feathers lay missing. For here, in his very presence, stood an angel without wings.

The beating of his heart returned and pounded loudly in the palm of his hands. She stood there, in a thin garment of white – so thin, that Remy could see the tinted hue of her flesh beneath it. A soft, cruel breeze caused the garment to flutter and press against each voluptuous curve of her body. She seemed to physically shudder, just as an agonized moan escaped Remy's throat.

He knew that the proper, decent thing was to turn his eyes away. After all, she was a nun, and surely looking unto her with his manly desires radiating throughout his body was one of the heaviest of sins. But he couldn't. He couldn't pull his eyes away, fearful that if he did, he would lose sight of her forever.

He didn't know who she was, or where she had come from, but there was something in the way she walked, in the way she ran her fingers through her hair, and in the way she had hummed that sad, haunted song, that made Remy want to know her. He was drawn to her – as if pulled by some invisible, red ribbon of fate.

He watched as she walked – no, glided – towards the enclosure and disappear from his view. In a frantic state to recapture her presence, Remy darted forward, hastily stepping over her black robes, and pressed a hand against the paneled wall. Through the cracks he could make out her figure, and the urgency in his need for her burst from somewhere inside of him. He could distinctly hear a tap turning, and then the sound of gushing water. In a few moments, steam rose from above the enclosure, and a thought occurred to him. If steam could come out, then surely he could look in?

His eyes quickly darted around and he found himself standing beneath on old tree. Its branches loomed over him, and without thinking, he began to climb. He continued to climb higher, his eyes fixated on the upper most edge of the enclosure. To his delight, he found a branch descending over the paneled wall and, wrapping his body around it, he released his hold on the main tree trunk and crawled out into the air.

He twisted his head and gazed down into the enclosure. The branch groaned in protest beneath him as his entire body gasped at what he saw. The girl had slipped herself into a stone basin filled with water. Remy's throat ran dry. He was watching the girl… taking a bath.

Waist deep in water, she was lifting a pail of soapy suds and pouring the sweetly scented liquid over her head. Remy watched the water trickle over her body, causing her white garment to stick – and nearly disappear – against her smooth skin. He felt his body instantly react to her, and before he could pull his eyes away, the branch gave way from under him.

He fell.

With a loud cry, and a louder splash, Remy fell headlong into the basin below. He resurfaced, sputtering water from his mouth, tantalizingly aware of the soft, bare limbs tangled with his own. He looked up, the girl only inches away from him, and felt the entire world come to a stop. There, glinting through the drops of water that cascaded down from the splash – as if in slow motion – he saw them.

Emerald green eyes.

He froze, everything about him captivated by her presence. Surely she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. Her large, beautiful eyes were set in a small, delicate face. Her smooth brow was furrowed in shocked surprise, her full, luscious lips trembling in increasing fear. He watched, his gaze breaking from hers, as she made to cover her wet body from his eyes. Remy instantly awoke to the situation at hand.

'I-I'm sorry,' he stammered, smiling at her sheepishly.

But the girl wasn't listening. He watched as the nun hurriedly pulled herself out of the basin, shuddering in sudden distraught. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and Remy suddenly became ashamed of his hasty neglect for her privacy. He lifted himself out of the basin, his clothes soaking wet, and pulled his long bangs out of his eyes.

He could feel her eyes on him, and when he looked up, he saw her looking at him curiously… and then suddenly with recognition. Her lips parted as if to say something, but a sudden crowing of a bird caused her to jump. Before Remy could stop her, she flittered towards the enclosure's exit.

'Wait!' Remy called, reaching out for her.

But she had already gone.

--

(1) apse – a semicircular niche at the head of the church where the alter is usually placed.

(2) Guten Morgen – "Good morning" in German (spoken in central Europe).

--

**Author's Note:** SQUEAL!! So how was that first taste of Romyness? Did I do good? Please review! I also think I've written my best line in my writing experience. Can you guess which one? I'm such a cornball!


	3. Chapter 3: A Rogue Sister

Disclaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that.

**Author's Note:** LOL! Now everyone's calling me a cornball. But doesn't that just mean that all my lil' bunnies out there are cornballs as well for reading my cornball story?! ;)

Btw, no one's guessed my line yet!

--

**Chapter #3: A Rogue Sister  
_"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair..."  
- 2 Corinthians 4:8 _**

Remy waltzed down a cold, stone passage with a mop, slopping soapy water on every dusty corner he could find. It was a new day, and although the mysterious nun he had encountered the day before had robbed all sleep from his body, he got out of bed that morning with a feeling of renewed strength. He had not been able to find her after she had disappeared from the secret garden, but today was a new day. And new days always held new possibilities.

Having gotten out of bed a little after the crack of dawn that morning, he had found that he had missed breakfast. Sister Betsy was adamant that he wake up in time for her meals, so he had left the kitchen with an empty stomach. Thinking it best to stay out of the nuns' way, he then busied himself by searching for his emerald-eyed angel. He couldn't find her. The convent wasn't very large and he managed to scope out most of the grounds. Once or twice he tried to make his way to that old, forbidden gate, but each time his conscience would get in the way. Although his heart desired to bask in her presence, his mind kept reminding him how tragic his first encounter with her had been.

He wasn't quite sure what had propelled his actions that day. Looking back on it, he could see how foolish and how hasty he had been. Climbing up a tree to peep on a bathing girl? This wasn't his style. But there had been something about her… something that had called to him. He had been drawn to her, and although he could look back now and see the error of his ways, he couldn't help but recall that in that moment – when he had first set eyes on her by the fountain – he had felt as if being in her presence was the only way a man could survive in this world.

In order to keep his mind off of her, Remy had decided to make himself useful. Although the Reverend Mother had assured him that his presence was welcome amongst them, he felt that he should at least offer his services to the convent. He wasn't exactly sure _what _services he could offer, but he wanted to help in any way he could. He also felt guilty for the thoughts he was having about that emerald-eyed angel and felt that he needed to redeem himself somehow. She was a _nun_. She was a woman pledged to Christ, who had vowed to remain in the Lord's service for the rest of her life. He had no right to think of her as anything but a servant of God, and yet he had spent the entire night fantasizing about her large, pure eyes staring back at him through cascading water. The thought of her made him tremble in delight, and he hated himself for it. Each time he thought of her, he felt like he was betraying the Reverend Mother's trust. So in order to keep his mind busy – and consequently off of that tantalizing nun – he decided to do some chores around the convent.

And so here he was now, mopping the floor.

He stifled another yawn. Remy was beginning to feel the first sensations of boredom. During his leisurely expedition earlier that morning, he had not failed to notice the lack of entertainment in the building. There were no televisions, no pool tables, no videogames, and definitely no music. There was one, battered looking radio in the living room, but this radio was used only for the news and for a religious station where old men and women bellowed hymns.

Still, there was some pleasure in cleaning, and as Remy glided the mop over the surface of the floor, he wondered if his good deeds would score some points against his bad ones.

'Ah, there you are!'

Remy looked up to find the Reverend Mother coming out through a door to his right. 'Mornin', Sister Munroe.'

'I heard you missed breakfast,' she said, eyeing the mop in his hand and the newly washed floor. 'So I thought I would come and get you when lunch was ready, lest you miss that, as well. Have you been cleaning?'

'Jus' paying my dues.' He lifted the mop over his shoulder and grabbed the pail of water.

'That is not necessary,' replied Sister Munroe, but she smiled at him. 'You are a guest here.'

'Still. Doesn't hurt to keep busy, non?'

'Well, if you insist. Now make haste, Sister Betsy will not be pleased if we are late.'

Remy deposited the mop and pail in a storage closet down the hall and then hurried to catch up with Sister Munroe's quick strides. When they entered the kitchen, they found the table overflowing with bread, cheese, and apples.

'Jean just left,' said Sister Betsy, who was busily moving around the table and placing down cups and utensils. 'Nathan's sick so she couldn't stay long.'

'Nathan will be in our prayers,' said Sister Munroe, taking a seat at the table with a concerned look on her face. 'Is it something serious?'

'Just a runny nose, I think.' Sister Betsy eyed Remy in partial contempt, and then in partial relief. 'Hmm. Look who finally made it in on time…'

Remy flashed Sister Betsy a deviant smile. 'Remy's tryin' his hardest to please you, petite.' He winked at her before sitting down in the seat across from Sister Munroe. 'Who's dis Nathan?'

'Jean's son,' replied the Reverend Mother. She broke a piece of bread and handed it to Remy. 'Jean has two children. A son and a daughter.'

Remy nodded in acknowledgement and then tucked into his meal after hearing the Reverend Mother's prayer for their food. Various other nuns went in and out of the kitchen, but Remy took his time with his lunch. Surely his emerald-eyed angel would come to eat as well? Every time the door opened, his heart would skip a beat, but she was never the one behind it. After a half hour of failed, darting excitements, he decided to brave the consequences and ask about her.

'So, Brother Wagner, he has de sister, non?' He posed his question carefully. He didn't want to reveal his encounter with her. He was sure she was the very sister Brother Wagner had been searching for, as she was the only nun he had not yet been formally introduced to.

'Ah yes, the Rogue Sister,' said Sister Betsy.

'Sister Mary Rose,' corrected Sister Munroe, after taking a sip of her water. 'Technically, they are no longer supposed to consider each other siblings. When a nun or a monk devotes himself or herself completely to the Lord, they must renounce their lives and all who are in it. However, due to their presence in the same convent, and due to their extraordinary relationship, we sometimes forget that they are no longer connected as siblings.'

Remy raised a curious brow. 'Extraordinary relationship?'

'Yes,' said Sister Betsy, and she came to sit at the table with them. They were the only three left in the kitchen, and all three leaned in closer to partake in the sharing of the story. 'Brother Wagner's mother found Sister Rose on the church steps one Sunday night. She was only six years old at the time. Brother Wagner's mother was a bit of a shifty character. She wasn't very religious. She would only come to church to pick up her son, our Brother Wagner, after Sunday School.'

'It is not our place to judge the actions of others,' said Sister Munroe, giving Sister Betsy a severe look. 'Whatever her faults, she took Sister Rose into her home and adopted her as her own child.'

'Yes, and then she ran off with the milk man two months later.'

Remy raised both brows in surprise.

'Brother Wagner, who had been ten years old at the time, was forced to grow up quickly. Without a father, or any other known relative, he was left alone in this world… except for his six year old adopted sister. He was very loving towards her, and quite affectionate. He cared for her, and doted on her as a parent would.' Sister Munroe sat back in her chair, a gentle smile on her lips. 'In order to make a living, Brother Wagner would run errands for the villagers. He worked six days a week, but on the seventh, he would come and volunteer his services here, at our Church. I hear he was very devoted.'

'His little sister would follow him everywhere,' Sister Betsy added. 'Brother Wagner's love was the only love she knew, and she spent her entire adolescence growing up in his shadow.'

'You could say that the Church adopted them both,' Sister Munroe continued. 'Brother Wagner began to study under the monks who were here at the time, and entrusted his sister to the nuns. Both their transitions into this world were flawless… as if they were meant to serve the Lord from birth.'

Remy nodded, rubbing his chin in thought. 'You called her de Rogue Sister. How come?'

Sister Betsy shrugged. 'Because she's a rogue. She's always been detached, and I heard that when she was a child, she didn't associate with anyone except her brother. She's always felt like an outsider, someone who doesn't belong anywhere except where she can be alone.' She chuckled, seeing the anxious expression on Remy's face. 'Don't get me wrong. She's a very sweet girl. She's polite, and gentle, and very much devoted to our convent. She just likes to keep to herself if she can help it.'

'She also got the name of Rogue because she refused to be named at all.'

Remy looked at the Reverend Mother questioningly. 'W'at you mean?'

'She was six when she came into Brother Wagner's world, but she never gave him her name. Brother Wagner apparently suggested many, but she would never respond to any of them. Even when she moved here, to the convent, she refused to acknowledge a name.' Sister Munroe sighed. 'Then one day, some random nun called her a rogue, and the name sort of stuck with her. She became known as the Rogue Sister.'

'Yes, until Sister Munroe here became the Reverend Mother of the House of Charity,' said Sister Betsy, playfully pretending to bask in Sister Munroe's presence.

'And you named her Sister Mary Rose?' Remy felt like he was being told a fairytale.

Sister Munroe nodded. 'It is the duty of the Reverend Mother to assign names to young nuns. I thought Rose would be the most appropriate for our Rogue Sister.'

'How come?'

'She was named after Saint Rose of Lima,' said Sister Betsy, as if this was the most obvious piece of knowledge in the world. 'Saint Rose of Lima was a mystic and visionary who received invisible stigmata, and yet she often suffered from the feeling that God was distant. Despite how lonely she felt, however, she persisted in believing that He was indeed with her all the time, and she continually prayed to grow stronger in her ability to trust Him.'

'When I first got to know the Rogue Sister, I felt that her suffering was much like that of Saint Rose's. The Rogue Sister's pain was invisible. She hid it from others, but there was always a sense of loss about her. First her parents had abandoned her, then her adoptive mother. Soon after her brother was taken from her by his devotion to the Church. And yet throughout, her own trust and faith in the Lord was overwhelming. She found love in His grace, and as a result devoted herself to him completely. Perhaps it is because of her comparison to Saint Rose that the Rogue Sister detests the name I have given her.' Sister Munroe shook her head. 'But she is still too young to take her Solemn Vows. She has much to grow and much to learn.'

'Just for the record,' Sister Betsy interrupted. 'The Rogue Sister is a year younger than I am, so I get to take my Solemn Vows first.' She smirked, and both Sister Munroe and Remy chuckled. She then turned her eyes on Remy. 'Why are you so interested in her anyway?'

Remy could feel sweat emitting from his palms. 'Well… she saved my life, non?' he said, calmly, and thereby belying his sudden anxiety. 'I jus' never seen her 'round. T'ought I'd ask 'bout her.'

'Well, do not go searching for her,' Sister Munroe warned. 'Our Rogue Sister does not like to be found.'

Remy nodded, in his mind thinking that the warning had come a little too late.

'Yes. "Touch not; taste not; handle not",' Sister Betsy added, with a wink, and Remy, suddenly nervous, wondered if Sister Betsy knew more than what she was letting on.

'You big on de Bible quotes, too, neh?' he asked in an attempt to change the subject. He had recalled that the Reverend Mother often quoted the Good Book as well.

Sister Betsy chucked. 'Yes, but don't expect me to source it. I don't usually remember where they come from.'

Sister Munroe rolled her eyes. 'That quote is from Colossians. Chapter 2, verse 21.' She stood up from the table and cleared her mess. 'Now, let us consider lunch to be over, and head back to our work.'

Remy got up as well, and handed Sister Betsy his plate. Lunch had been quite interesting, and he felt relieved after hearing the Rogue Sister's tale. This made her seem more real to him, and confirmed for him that his encounter with her had not just been a dream. At the same time, however, he also felt as if the air had been taken out of him. Her comparison to Saint Rose seemed to remind him just how far from him she was. Her mind, heart, and soul were already given to her God, and Remy's wishful thinking that he could stand beside her forever seemed impossible.

As he left the kitchen and made his way back to the storage closet to retrieve his mop and pail, he decided to give up on his emerald-eyed angel. There was no way he could reach her with his hands as stained as they were.

--

It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when Remy took to the hallway that led to his room. The convent had become quite eerie in the silence, as many of the nuns had already retired for the night.

Remy had spent the remainder of the day doing little odd jobs around the convent. When the nuns heard that he was accepting any and all requests for help, they seemed to swarm around him. He ended up doing such things as fixing door handles, replacing light bulbs, and killing the occasional spider the nuns abhorred. The work had not been difficult, but as Remy reached his bedroom door, he could feel the fatigue in his shoulders.

As he turned the doorknob, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Although he had not gone looking for her, he didn't once catch a glimpse of the Rogue Sister. If his mind didn't continuously wander to that conversation he had had with Sisters Betsy and Munroe over lunch, then he would have, by now, been convinced that she had not existed at all. He felt frustrated that he couldn't rid her from his mind, but he felt even more frustrated that he couldn't see her. And he so very much wanted to.

He pulled open his door with a heavy heart and was immediately overwhelmed by the sweet scent of summer flowers. His feet stopped just over the threshold to his room as his eyes strayed on a figure drawing the curtains at his window. Her movements stopped abruptly as the door clicked shut behind him.

She turned quickly, and in a whirl of black robes, Remy saw the face he had been aching to see all day. For a moment the world around them ceased to move. The air hung in silence, and even the flickering of the candle slowed its hasty dance. The two individuals in the room stood rooted, their eyes gazing into each other's.

Remy held his breath, afraid to move. He had startled her – he could see it in the surprised look on her face. He couldn't imagine what she was doing in his room, but he didn't care. She was here, in the flesh, and he didn't want her to disappear again. All previous thoughts of trying to forget her were forgotten and lost.

'Ah'm sorry,' she said, suddenly, and Remy couldn't recall ever hearing a lovelier voice. 'Ah didn't think you'd be back so soon.'

She took a step towards the door, and then stopped mid-stride as she realized that he was blocking her exit.

'You come to visit me, petite?' he asked, his signature smile now playing on his lips.

She seemed to scowl at his words, and Remy frowned. Usually his default reactions to women worked smoothly. Everyone enjoyed a good flirt, right?

'It's mah duty ta mind your room,' she said, and he could distinctly hear a cold edge around her Southern drawl. 'Or did ya think the _fairies_ made your bed in the mornin's?'

Remy chocked back a chuckle as her eyes flashed with… what? Mirth? 'Remy appreciates de service,' he said, and bowed low before her.

She continued to stare at him for a few seconds – a look that caused Remy's strained heart to pound rapidly against his chest.

'It's mah duty,' she repeated, much in the same tone that the Reverend Mother used, and before Remy could straighten his body, she had pushed past him towards the door.

For a moment he felt a little flustered, as the cloth of her robes brushed against him, but his quick reflexes reacted to her movement and he reached out and grabbed her hand in his.

'Wait,' he said, desperately, pulling her back into the room. He didn't want to see her go. Not again.

The Rogue Sister looked own at her hand, her green eyes shimmering in the candlelight.

'Don't go.'

She turned her eyes on him, and Remy was sure she had heard the beating of his heart.

'I wanted to apol'gize for de ot'er day,' he said, slowly. 'I don't know w'at came over me…'

He turned his eyes away from hers. The intensity in her eyes, and the way she was biting down on her bottom lip, made Remy feel ashamed and… dirty.

'Let's not talk 'bout that ever again,' she said, quietly, and pulled her hand away. Remy's hand remained in the air where she had released it, as if urging her to place her hand back in his again.

She moved towards the door and pulled it open.

'Wait!'

This time she stopped, and turned her head slightly to hear what he had to say.

'I wanted to t'ank you for saving my life. Your name… 'w'at it be?' He had taken a step towards her, but knew that there was nothing he could do to keep her there with him.

She hesitated for a long moment, and then said, 'Rogue.' She turned and walked through the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Remy's impulse urged him to throw the door open and go after her, but he didn't move. What was the point? What would he say? That he wanted her to return to his room? That he wanted to run his hands through her luscious hair and kiss her on her sweet mouth? Would she come if he told her that he wanted to gaze into her emerald green eyes all night long?

Of course not.

Remy ran a frustrated hand through his unkempt hair. She was a nun. A _nun! _ He groaned as he stripped his body of all clothes and fell into his hard, unwelcoming bed. What was happening to him? He didn't even know who this girl was, and yet he yearned for her like no other. Was it because he knew he couldn't have her; that _touching_ her was as impossible as seeing the gates of Heaven? Surely he had some control over his own heart…

He turned over in his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Images of her kept flashing into his mind as her sweet scent floated around him. How long had she been in his room?

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. What did it matter?

_Merde…_

What was wrong with him?

--

**Author's Note:** Well. The Cajun seems full-blown. Next chapter we'll see what the Rogue Sister thinks of all this…


	4. Chapter 4: The Rogue Sister’s Condemnati

_Disclaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that._

**Author's Note:** Hiya, guys! Sorry for the delay in updating! I've started back at work and needed some time to get my bearings. I'm back in the swing though and should be updating as often as I used to. :)

--

**Chapter #4: The Rogue Sister's Condemnation  
_"Hatred stirreth up strifes: but love covereth all sins."  
- Proverbs 10:12_**

Rogue burst into her room and slammed the door hard behind her. Her body was shaking with an unnatural feeling she could not explain. She was breathless, her body feeling clammy and hot. She held up her hand – the one _he_ had grabbed – and looked at it with a mixture of alarm and fear in her eyes. She held it out in front of her as she hurried to the washbasin on her dresser and poured water into it from the jug. She then unceremoniously plunged her hand into the basin and began to rub it vigorously. When she was done, she collapsed onto her bed without drying her hand off.

The fire in her soul roared loudly as her mind wandered back to that man. She couldn't understand why, whenever she tried her hardest to avoid him, God sent her whirling right into him. She turned her head from where it lay on her humble bed sheet to look at the rustic cross hanging on her bare wall. She frowned.

If she was to be honest with herself, then she had to admit that there had been some curiosity at first. She had found the man quite by accident – stumbling onto his unconscious body during one of her moonlit strolls. She had immediately alerted her brother, and together they had carried his body into the spare room. With the Reverend Mother, Rogue had dressed the man's wounds, and when the Reverend Mother had left she had remained with him throughout the night. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know his story. She didn't know how he had come to be there. But she had remained with him day and night throughout his pained slumber. The Reverend Mother had left her in charge of him, but Rogue would have stayed even if he were not her responsibility. There was something in the way she had found him on the doorsteps of the Church that reminded her so much of her own story. Had not she, too, been found on the doorsteps of this very Church?

She had stayed up during the nights while he had slumbered. She had observed his face and how troubled he seemed to feel even when asleep. She had gazed into his eyes but once, when he had lifted his eyelids to peer into her own eyes that first night. They had been red, swimming in a pool of black. She had never seen eyes such as his and although she felt that they were as the devil's, she found herself attracted to them.

This was, perhaps, her _first_ taste of such sinful thoughts.

Rogue groaned as she sat up in her bed.

And then one morning, he would wake… and then fall into her bath. Her cheeks blazed red as she thought back to that day. She still didn't know how he had come to be there. That garden was reserved only for the nuns, and they often bathed there in the seclusion of nature during the hot, summer days. It was her favourite spot… and he had tainted it.

He had emerged from the depths of the water, his strong legs tangled with her own, water glistening over his chiseled features, his breath bathing her lips in a shuddering gasp. She had never been so physically close to a man before. She had only ever spoken freely to one – her brother Kurt. How, then, was she now able to talk to this stranger after he had invaded her privacy?

She didn't dislike the man… but she felt that his presence was rather unsettling. She found herself attracted to him and yet feared being around him. What was this uncanny attraction? She didn't understand it, and this ignorance annoyed her.

She let out a frustrated sigh just as the door opened and the Reverend Mother entered with a tray of biscuits.

'A snack, Sister Rose?' Sister Munroe inquired, placing the tray on the meager nightstand.

'Don't call me that,' she sighed, clearly put out.

Sister Munroe chuckled. It wasn't a rare thing to find the Rogue Sister in one of her moods.

'But it is your na—'

'What is he still doin' here?!' Rogue interrupted unceremoniously, shooting Sister Munroe a defiant glare.

'I beg your pardon?' Sister Munroe eyed Rogue with mild surprise on her face. 'What is who still doing here?'

'That man!'

'Ah, you must mean Remy.' Sister Munroe sat down on Rogue's bed and casually smoothed the creases in her gown. 'So you two have finally met.'

Rogue narrowed her brows. 'We have. He retired early and caught me cleanin' his room.'

'A pleasant surprise, I am sure,' Sister Munroe replied. Her tone was serious, but her eyes were dancing with amusement. She was quite entertained at seeing Rogue so upset about Remy. She had known for a while now that Rogue had purposely been avoiding him, and she found it hilarious that Remy had stumbled onto her when she had tried so hard to avoid him.

'Yea, raht. He seems perfectly fine now. Why is he still stickin' 'round? Doesn't he have other places ta spy on?'

'Spy on?' Sister Munroe raised a curious brow.

Rogue's eyes widened as she realized her slip. Under no circumstances was she about to reveal the embarrassment of being spied on while bathing. 'Ah mean… it's not important. Why is he still here?'

Sister Munroe shrugged as she took a biscuit from the tray. 'I invited him to remain here for as long as he needs. I believe he was thankful for the offer.' Seeing the unpleasant look on Rogue's face, she continued. 'Remy had been running for his life the night you found him, Sister Rose. Something led him here, to our very doorstep.'

'So?' Rogue was pouting.

'So… I believe he has a purpose here. God brought him here for a reason.'

Rogue folded her arms over her chest. 'That's ridiculous.'

'Is it?' Sister Munroe stood up and walked towards the door. Before leaving, she turned around and gave Rogue a smile. 'I believe you have forgotten… but God brought _you_ here as well…' She wished Rogue goodnight and slipped out the door.

Rogue stared after her, her lips slightly parted. Yes, God _had _brought her here, but how was this in any way connected to why Remy was brought here? She felt so confused. Her mind swam with thoughts of him. Even when she had been caring for him while he was unconscious, she found her dreams floating in awareness of him.

But why?

She didn't want him here… and yet she thought of him often. She didn't like knowing that he was living under the same roof, and yet she felt excited whenever she was in his presence.

Why?

What were these feelings inside of her? She groaned, suddenly wishing that she had never met him.

_Why did Ah evah bring him inside…_ she thought, as she fell back into her bed. And then, realizing just how selfish and sinful the very thought of leaving him that night to die was, she jumped out of bed, fell to her knees, and began to pray for forgiveness.

--

**_A few days later…_**

It was Sunday, and Remy sat in the third pew from the front of the Church. Sister Munroe was sitting beside him, her face lifted in rapt attention. He followed her gaze up to the podium where Brother Wagner stood, his hands moving in animation as he preached to the congregation. A bored sigh escaped Remy's lips. He liked Brother Wagner a great deal, but he just couldn't understand why the others found his sermons so interesting. If he wasn't so afraid of Sister Munroe's wrath, he would have walked out in the middle of the sermon long ago. He had better things to do than listen to a lecture about a god he didn't believe in. Like taking a nap.

Brother Wagner stopped talking and asked the congregation to rise. Everyone rose at once and began to follow Brother Wagner's lead in a hymn. Remy had been shocked to find, when he had first entered the Church that morning, just how packed it had gotten with the local people. He had spotted Jean with her family and had waved at her. She had waved back with an enthusiastic smile. He recalled her mentioning that she had attended mass at this very Church since she was a child. Remy wondered what it was about religion that kept people so devoted. He had never believed in God and still felt that the whole idea of a supreme being was ridiculous. How could people devote themselves to some being they had never seen before?

Ridiculous.

As the people around him bellowed words of worship, Remy's eyes wandered to the person standing at the pew in front of his, just a few spots over to the right. Her face was lifted towards her brother and her mouth moved to the words of the song. Her palms were turned towards the ceiling, her hands lifted in the air.

A contented sigh escaped Remy's lips as he tilted his head and watched her with extreme satisfaction. Now _she_ was a person he could devote himself to completely.

Every time he saw her, he felt like a blossoming flower; like a poet's poem; like a moonlit sky; like dancing water; like a Christmas fire; like the morning sun; like the life of colour; like the play of birds; like a cool autumn breeze on a hot summer's day…

Every time he saw her, he felt the slow, slow growth of a delicious addiction.

The hymn ended and everyone took their seats. Still, Remy's eyes remained on his angel, his heart beating hard in his chest – as it always did when he thought of her. He had seen her numerous times over the days that had passed since their awkward introduction in his room. She was indeed quite reserved, and he often spotted her alone – just as Sister Betsy had described. But she was not shy. She greeted him when they passed in the halls, and often joined in on the conversations over the dinner table. Remy had noticed that she smiled but rarely, and that she often wore a misty look like one would when daydreaming. She didn't pay him any special attention, but he knew she was still looking after his room. The scent of summer flowers had not faded.

He smiled to himself, as the people around him whispered "Amen". The night before, he had pondered his feelings for the Rogue Sister, and found himself without a conclusion. But he had, much to his satisfaction, decided that he would not allow her devotion to her religion scare him away. So what if she was a nun? In his eyes, she was still very much a woman. If this meant a guaranteed ticket to Hell, then so be it. He didn't believe in Hell anyway. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to have a relationship with her. He was sick of being the casual, wandering guest. He wanted to be her friend – a companion – someone who mattered in her life. Why did he have to look at her as someone untouchable when he didn't believe in the religion in the first place?

He was still gazing at Rogue when people rose and cleared the Church. Sister Munroe nudged him in the ribs and he sat up, suddenly alert.

'Were you sleeping?' she asked him, and the contempt was evident in her voice.

Remy shook his head, peeling his eyes away from the Rogue Sister. The Reverend Mother, having just witnessed his break in concentration, raised her brow at him. She had noticed Remy's fixation with Sister Rose during the sermon. She had seen previous signs as well as the days had passed, and wasn't oblivious to Remy's intentions. She was slightly amused, and also slightly disgruntled. She was disgruntled because she felt that Remy was overstepping his boundaries, and amused because she knew he had no chance. She watched now as Remy left the pew and hurried after Sister Rose as she disappeared behind the door leading back to the convent.

'"He goeth after her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter",' she whispered to herself, with a chuckle.

'What was that?' Sister Betsy had come up behind her.

'Proverbs, chapter 7, verse 22.'

'Great, you're going to make me look that up?'

Sister Munroe chuckled again, shaking her head. 'I have the feeling we will be thoroughly entertained by the feeble attempts of our visitor.'

Sister Betsy raised a curious brow. 'A feeble attempt at what?'

But Sister Munroe didn't say. She merely smiled, and followed the other nuns out of the Church.

--

'I think it all be stupid.' Remy sat back in his chair, his arms folded over his broad chest.

'What is stupid?'

The door to the kitchen opened and in strolled the Reverend Mother, with Sister Rose in tow. Remy sat up and ran a hand quickly through his unkempt hair in a failed attempt to tame it. Sister Munroe pulled out the chair opposite his and sat down. Rogue grabbed a clay mug from off the shelf and moved behind the counter to where Sister Betsy stood. Although Remy was sure she had noticed him, she made no indication that she was aware of his presence.

'Remy was just telling me how foolish I am to be following a worthless religion,' Sister Betsy claimed, flashing a grin at Sister Munroe.

Sister Munroe gave Remy a rather bemused smile. 'Is that so?'

Remy shrugged up his shoulders. 'I was just sayin', petite. There be not'ing spectacular between dis religion and all de ot'ers. Remy not dissing your decisions. He just wonderin' why you made dem.' He was very much aware that Rogue was listening to him, and began to regret his words. He had engaged himself in a conversation with Sister Betsy about religion, after complaining to her how bored he had been during the sermon. But now that Rogue was here, he felt that his words could disappoint her, or even hurt her. He didn't want to do either.

Sister Betsy and Sister Munroe, however, seemed keen that he explain himself.

'Because we have faith,' Sister Munroe said, giving Remy a challenging look. 'I have faith in God. I believe everything happens for a reason, and that we must trust that God will take care of us.'

'Remy doesn't seem to think God does,' Sister Betsy replied, and Remy shifted uneasily in his seat. Yes, he had said as much to her earlier. He dared a look at Rogue, and found her staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

'It not be dat…' he said, slowly, staring down at his hands. 'It's jus'… de God never showed me no kindness in life. People, dey talk o' de miracles. Remy will believe it when he sees it.' He shrugged up one shoulder in indifference, hoping that his wayward attitude towards the subject would warrant a change in conversation.

It didn't.

'What a stupid thing ta say!'

Three heads looked up and gazed at Rogue. She had put the mug down. Her hands were now on her hips and she was glaring directly at Remy.

'How can ya say that God's nevah showed you any kindness?!' Her tone was accusatory and Remy wasn't sure how he was supposed to reply. He had never seen such rage in her eyes before. 'How do you think ya ended up here? God saved your life that night and if it wasn't for him, you'd prob'ly be dead!'

Sister Munroe and Sister Betsy exchanged nervous glances as Remy gaped at the Rogue Sister. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

'It's selfish, arrogant, blind people like you who have caused such grief in the world. Instead of questionin' why your life sucks, you should dwell on all the good things that have happened to ya.'

'I do recognize dem,' he said, slowly. 'I just don' t'ink some god is responsible. Good t'ings happen to good people, and bad t'ings happen to de bad.'

'An' who do you think decides?'

Remy shrugged.

'Jeez, gimme a break.' Rogue pushed passed the counter and made for the door.

'Where are you going?' Sister Betsy asked, alarmed.

'Ah'm gonna go pray for this man's soul, though Ah'm sure it won't do him any good.' She pulled open the door and slammed it hard behind her.

Remy sat there, appalled. 'What dat be about?'

Sister Munroe gave Remy a soft smile. 'Please forgive Sister Rose. She is very… expressive… when it comes to defending her faith.'

Remy shook his head, still in shock. 'But you and Sister Betsy… you two didn't shoot de Cajun down.'

'We both know that people are different, and that whether you believe in God or not is a reflection of your relationship with Him. Although I would like to believe that you will repent one day, I am more patient with my teachings.' Sister Munroe sighed. 'But Sister Rose is young and passionate. She's also rather… confused.'

'Confused?' Remy raised a curious brow.

'You must remember that Sister Rose was adopted into the Church. I am still unsure how much of her devotion is her own, and how much she has _adopted_ as her own.' Seeing the bewildered expression on Remy's face, she continued. 'Do not misunderstand. Sister Rose is very much devoted to her faith and the lifestyle she has chosen. But she is of that age when she is re-evaluating her purpose in life, and her position in this world.'

Remy sighed. He was getting tired of hearing the same stuff all over again. 'Mebbe I should go talk to her.'

Sister Betsy chuckled. 'Might be a little dangerous to do that right now.'

Remy shrugged. 'For some reason… I want her to know dat I'm not de lost cause she t'inks I be. I don't believe in de god… but dat doesn't mean I'm not ready to listen…'

'You didn't want to listen to Brother Wagner during the sermon today,' Sister Betsy pointed out, and Sister Munroe laughed. 'What makes you want to listen to Sister Rose?'

Remy averted his eyes and felt his cheeks grow red.

'Leave him be,' Sister Munroe said, flashing the other nun a smile. She then turned to Remy. '"A continual dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike"(1). Leave Sister Rose alone for now. She will surely regret her temper after some meditation. Do not worry.'

But Remy _was_ worried. He had angered her unintentionally and wasn't prepared to let it be. He was afraid that the Rogue Sister would hold onto her anger and fade away from his existence. What if she reverted back to her secluded, lone self?

Remy watched as both Sister Munroe and Sister Betsy left the kitchen to partake in their evening prayers.

He didn't know much about this God of theirs, but a condemnation by the Rogue Sister was less favourable than God's judgment.

--

(1) _Proverbs, 27:15_


	5. Chapter 5: Convent of Love

_Disclaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that._

**Author's Note:** Hiya, guys! I'm sorry, I have no excuse for my procrastination. Please forgive me!

---

**Chapter #5: House of Love**  
_"... [T]he Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."  
- Deuteronomy 31:6 _

Remy stared at his reflection on the shield held by one of the saints adorning a niche in the Church. The now dirty cloth that he held in his hand hung forgotten by his side. He felt tired and drained, but more accurately a little nervous. Standing three statues down was the Rogue Sister, her own cloth darting quickly, yet no less thoroughly, over the body of another saint.

Remy tried to ignore her. She had thwarted all his attempts of apologizing and even went so far as grimacing whenever she saw him in the halls. He knew that he must have sounded like a pompous atheist, and although at the time he had felt like he was being candid and honest, in truth he was using his indifference towards religion as a way of masking his own spiritual weakness and ignorance.

Remy had never been taught religion. He did not know what his options were, nor did he understand why people devoted themselves to an invisible entity. Remy knew only what was real. He was taught to be a thief, and he was good at it. He learned what was good and what was bad, but also he learned to recognize the silver lining between the two extremities. Remy's theory was that if he could touch it he could believe it. He knew no other way of living.

But now he was nervous. The women he had met at this convent believed in a God they had never seen. He could not touch God, so why believe that God exists? And yet the women here… they claimed to have _felt _God.

Felt God?

How can one feel what one cannot touch?

Remy did not understand. He could not wrap his mind around such a thing. But he wanted to learn. He wanted to know what it was about this God that entranced them so. This is what he wanted to tell Rogue… that he was sorry. That he did not understand. He was not a heathen. He was only a sinner lost in a world unknown to him. He was willing to listen. He was willing to learn.

He was willing to be found.

But she had no time for him. He watched her now, out of the corner of his eye. She had cleaned two statues in the time it had taken him to clean one, and already she was dusting the statue next to his. Her movements were slower, and with every rustle of her robes the scent of summer flowers lifted into the air.

He knew it would be foolish to open his mouth and address her. Only two reactions could come of it: one, she would flee at his address; or two, she would blow up in a rage. He did not think he could handle either, considering that he wanted nothing more than to bask in her presence.

Unbeknownst to him, a sigh escaped his lips. It was a deep sigh that reverberated through the still air. Rogue turned to look at him, her green eyes captivating his red with a naïve bat of her long lashes.

She was frowning.

'Why don't ya believe in God?' she asked, abruptly.

Her voice echoed in his ears and Remy realized that he was expecting her to ask this. It was the key to break his indifference.

'De colour o' my eyes. W'at dey be?'

Rogue stared intently into them. So intense was her gaze that Remy nearly looked away.

'Red,' she said, finally. 'Like blood.'

'Dey say I was abandoned because my family, dey were religious.' He gazed at the stone expression of the saint he had been polishing. Its unseeing eyes revealed a vacant core. 'Dey t'ought I had dey eyes o' de devil. So dey t'rew me away.'

'But you were found.'

'By t'ieves.'

'By people.'

Silence fell between them again as they both stared at the solid stone statues before them. Remy knew that Rogue's mind was working. She was struggling with words she wanted to say. Was she afraid of his reaction?

'Why do you believe in dis god?' he asked. It was a question he had been burning to ask since her outburst in the kitchen a few days ago. It was a question he knew would be hard for her to answer. He was surprised, therefore, when she answered it so readily.

''Cause it's easy to.' Seeing the confused look on his face, she continued. 'When Ah was little, it was easier ta dwell on the good things than on the bad. If Ah dwelled on the bad, Ah'd have drowned.'

Remy's eyes widened in surprise when she grabbed him by the hand and led him to the altar. He could feel the warmth of her hand penetrating his skin, but she seemed oblivious to the touch. She was not holding his hand because she wanted to. She was holding it because she was leading him to God. Her face was lifted and she was gazing at the large gilded cross before them.

'Christ almost drowned… on that cross o' His,' she said, softly. 'He un'erstands people like me.' She turned her large eyes on him and Remy felt his soul stir. 'He un'erstands people like you.'

Remy stared up at the cross looming above him. Why did these people glorify a death by crucifixion?

'God loves His children. He sent us three gifts,' she said, and again Remy felt as if the nuns of this convent could read his thoughts. First the Reverend Mother… and now the Rogue Sister.

'Gifts?'

'Yes, three: Hope, Faith, and Charity.'

'Charity? Like in de name o' dis convent?'

Rogue nodded. 'Do ya know what Charity means?'

Remy shook his head. Of course he knew, but for some reason he realized that any answer her gave her would be wrong.

'Love. Charity is ta bestow love on another.'

Alas, he would have been wrong.

'The House of Charity,' she said, 'is the House of—'

'Love.' Remy was looking at her again. He could not help it. 'Why did you become a nun?'

Perhaps it was the abruptness of the question, or else the turning of their conversation, but Remy sensed that he had caught his green-eyed angel off guard.

'I-It's mah callin',' she stammered, clearly flustered. His blood-red eyes seemed to pierce right through her.

'Who be beckoning?'

'An inner voice, pe'haps…' She turned her back on him and started walking back to the statue she had been dusting.

'What if it be de wrong voice?' Remy called after her. His heart was hammering against his chest and he was not sure why. How appropriate… that the roof under which he had met this rogue was called the Convent of Love.

Rogue turned slowly to face him, but she did not meet his gaze. Her eyes were downcast, her long lashes lying helplessly against her cheek. 'Ah don't un'erstand the question…'

'W'at if you fall in love?' Remy asked boldly, taking a step towards her. 'W'at if you fall in love wit' someone who ain't God?'

He watched her hands curl into fists and noticed the slight shaking of her shoulders. He had overstepped his boundaries… but a part of him did not care. He wanted to know. He wanted to know how far her devotion lay, and how much of it he could steal.

'Impossible.' She spoke just this one word, but she spoke it with such finality that Remy suddenly felt as if he had been slapped across the face.

Without looking up at him – without so much of a flutter of those lashes – she turned and walked out of the Church. Remy stared after her, staggered.

---

'Vas is vrong, meine kleine Schwester(1)?!' Brother Wagner exclaimed, as Rogue came storming into the library. He put down the book he was reading and watched as Rogue began to pace the length of the worn rug.

'Nothin',' she bit out, but the clenched fists at her side and the maddening strut of her gate told Brother Wagner otherwise.

With a slight sigh, he put his book down and prepared himself to give his sister his full attention. 'Bitte(2). Sit down.' When she ignored him, he decided to skip the preliminary words and get right to the root of the problem. 'Did anyone say shomethin' to you?'

'No,' she growled, under her breath.

Brother Wagner nodded his head. Rogue's "no" usually meant "yes". 'Vas it das herr LeBeau?'

Rogue did not reply, but the reddening of her cheeks was answer enough for him. He stroked his chin. Brother Wagner was in no way observant. He was quite oblivious to his surroundings – a habit he had picked up after being surrounded by women for so long – but he knew a little something about the ways of a man's thoughts. He had not been oblivious to the recent change in Rogue's demeanor. She had become more scarce than usual and she seemed fidgety and tense whenever she was around people. He had noticed the way her back arched when Remy walked passed her in the hallway, and the way her cheeks would flush red whenever his name was mentioned.

He was also not oblivious to the way Remy looked at Rogue. It had become common knowledge at the convent that Remy had acquired a certain obsession for her, and although the nuns had faith in Rogue's devotion to the Order – and therefore did not heed Remy's actions as being dangerous – Brother Wagner was not as satisfied.

He had raised Rogue. He knew her better than he knew himself. Her love for God was strong… but except for his own, she knew no other type of love. His own transition into priesthood was entirely his own decision, but although Rogue willingly accepted nun-hood, it was not entirely her choice. She simply had no other options.

With all this in mind, Brother Wagner had quietly observed the actions of the two young individuals under his roof. He was not quite sure how he felt about it. Rogue was clearly oblivious to Remy's true feelings, but her own were quite apparent. It was clear to Brother Wagner that Rogue was interested in the boy. Remy intrigued her and Brother Wagner often caught her gazing at the boy in supposed secret. And yet… she was scared of him at the same time. Was it fear of the man… or fear of the sin? Therein lay the dilemma.

As the Father of the Church, it was Brother Wagner's duty to guide Sister Mary Rose back onto the righteous path. It was his responsibility to remind her of her duties and of her pledges to the Lord.

But as her brother…?

He was torn.

Could he deny her life's simple joys? Did he have the right to take from her what was natural?

Was he jumping to conclusions? Perhaps infatuation was where it ended. Perhaps the look in Rogue's eyes whenever Remy was near was simply curiosity. Nothing more.

He watched her pace for a few moments. When he finally spoke, it was in a calm, soothing voice. 'Anger can be a dangerous thing, ja?'

Rogue stopped and faced her brother with a steady gaze. 'Ah'm not mad.'

'Vas is it?'

Rogue seemed to slump underneath her layer of robes. 'Ah dunno. It's him.'

'Der boy?'

Rogue nodded.

'"Who can find a virtuous vomen? For her price is far above rubies."(3) Herr LeBeau sees you like ve all see you, Rogue: a gem among grains of sand.' Brother Wagner walked towards her and placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. 'He is a nice boy.'

'Ah don't like the way he looks at me…'

'Wie(4) dos he look at you?'

Rogue pouted, and Brother Wagner was suddenly reminded of the six-year-old girl who used to follow behind him, seeking comfort in his shadow.

'Like Ah'm different.'

'You are.'

Rogue shook her head vehemently. 'He doesn't look at me the way _you_ look at me.'

Brother Wagner chuckled. 'If I may quote der proverbs… "There are three things which are too vonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: der vay of an eagle in der air; der vay of a serpent upon a rock; der vay of a ship in der midst of der sea; and"…' he paused, ensuring that he had her attention, '… "der vay of a man with a maid."'

Rogue blinked. 'What proverb is that?!'

'30:18,' Brother Wagner recited, with a blush. 'I find it is true to me.'

'Ah don't un'erstand you.'

He nodded. He had not expected her to understand. She was too naïve. 'Herr LeBeau is a man. You need not fear him… but be wary.'

He grabbed his book from the table and made his way to the door. Before leaving, he flashed Rogue a smile.

Rogue stared after him, even more confused than when she had entered the library.

---

(1) meine kleine Schwester – "my kid sister" in German

(2) Bitte – "Please" in German

(3) Proverbs, 31:10

(4) Wie – "How" in German


	6. Chapter 6: Planting the Seed

Disclaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that.

**Author's Note:** Wah! I was reading the chapters of this story again to remember where I had left off writing, and I noticed that my page breaks are missing! Does anyone know why? Does anyone know how I can fix it so that they're there again?

O! Sorry for disappearing! :(

**-X-**

**Chapter #6: Planting the Seed  
**_**"Can a man take fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned?"  
****- Proverbs, 6:27**_

'Jean!' The Reverend Mother waved her hand in a slightly frantic manner as a wave of red floated through the busy market street.

'Do you want me to get 'er?' Remy asked, standing on tiptoe and peering through the crowd.

'I think she has seen us,' Sister Munroe replied, the sigh of relief evident at the end of her words. Sure enough, the wave of red had changed its course and was now streaming towards them.

As he waited, Remy felt the sun hot against his skin. It had been so long since he had ventured out of the Convent – out into the _real _world – that every little sensation triggered his senses. The market was crowded this morning and Remy marveled at the number of people out and about. Women were scurrying to find the best deals for the fruits and vegetables that would occupy most of their baskets. Men were lounging together in groups, either staring after their wives, or otherwise whispering about the latest political scandals. And then there were the children. Remy had never experienced such an abundance of children before. They were everywhere: jumping rope, throwing rocks, teasing stray dogs, and hanging off their mothers' aprons. Their rosy cheeks glistened under the bright sun and every now and then a pair of inquisitive eyes would stare at him for a good few minutes before turning away to gaze at something more interesting.

Jean approached them with a large, warm smile, regardless of being out of breath and a bit disheveled. 'Gosh, it's busy today!'

Sister Munroe nodded, and then grabbed Jean by the elbow and pulled her to the stall she and Remy had been standing at. 'Sister Elizabeth was in the middle of making Chicken Pot Pie before she realized that she did not have any chickens.' Sister Munroe sounded exasperated.

Jean chuckled. 'And she sent you and Remy out to get some?'

'I have never picked out a live chicken before,' Sister Munroe said, defensively. 'How am I to know what to look for? If I do not return with the most perfect of chickens, I will be hearing about it for days and days.'

Jean nodded, clearly amused. 'Not to worry, I'll show you what to look for…'

As Jean began instructing the Reverend Mother on how to first choose the chicken, and then to bargain the cost, Remy decided to walk around.

That morning, when Sister Munroe had first approached him about accompanying her to the market, Remy was a bit surprised. Although he knew that the nuns often ventured out into town to spread the "good word", it never occurred to him that they would go out to accomplish such mundane tasks as buying live chickens. When the surprise wore off, the hesitation kicked in. Since his fated arrival at the Convent, Remy had never once set a foot outside the large, stone walls. A part of him worried that it might still be dangerous for him. If the Assassin's Guild were still around, then surely they would be on the lookout. He was worried that if he was spotted, they would track him back to the Convent and he would end up putting all the nuns in danger. This he could not risk.

But Sister Munroe was adamant that he accompany her, and when she – perhaps a little slyly – mentioned that the Rogue Sister would be going as well, he decided to take the risk. Surely the Assassin's Guild had given up in their search for him?

Now, as he wove his way haphazardly through the bustling crowd, he found himself drifting towards the flower stand. He knew that this was where Rogue had disappeared to.

Sure enough, as he approached, he found her kneeling down and admiring a pot of yellow roses. As he often did when he came into her presence, he lifted his hand and rested it on his chest. It was a subconscious act that he was little aware of. 'Dere you be.'

He smiled when she looked up and acknowledged him, and he found that she was not alone. Crouched beside her were two children he had never seen before, but he knew immediately who they were. The young girl, perhaps four years of age, had stunning green eyes and a mop of vibrant red curls. She had an impish face that reminded him instantly of Jean. Beside her was a boy of perhaps eight years of age, with wavy brown hair and a curious smile. His nose was runny and he wiped it with the back of his hand.

'Nathan, Rachel, this is Mr. LeBeau,' Rogue confirmed. Remy remembered that Jean's son was named Nathan, and that he had recently been ill.

'Charmed,' Remy greeted, with a wide grin. The girl beside Rogue giggled up at him.

'Who is Mister 'Beau?' she asked, tugging at one of her curls.

'Hmm….' Remy crouched so that he was eye level with all three of them. 'I suppose… he be Sister Rose's friend.'

Rogue rolled her eyes and Rachel giggled again.

'So are we,' Nathan said, puffing out his chest.

'I'm glad to hear it,' Remy replied, ''cause I was beginning to t'ink de Sister was a loner.'

Rogue narrowed her eyes and stood up. She dusted off her robes and grabbed Rachel by the hand. 'C'mon, children. Let's go find yo' momma.'

Remy chuckled and followed after her. 'I was only making de joke, petite.'

She huffed.

'Now you've done it,' Nathan piped up, wiping his runny nose with his sleeve.

'Ah'm not mad,' Rogue said, defensively. 'Pe'haps irritated, frustrated, and annoyed. But not mad.'

'At least I got you feeling somet'ing,' Remy said, under his breath, though not low enough to avoid Rogue's ear. She turned around and glared at him.

'What _is_ your problem?'

Remy starred at her wide-eyed and shrugged his shoulder. 'Dere be no problem here, chere.'

'"Chere"?' Her hands were on her hips now and she stomped her foot with agitation.

Rachel giggled

'Look, I just want to be your friend, Rogue.' He held out his hand and presented her with a yellow rose. If he had paid for it or if he had swiped it from the vendor, Rogue could not tell. When she looked at it skeptically he rushed to continue. 'I know we started on de wrong foot. But you saved dis thief's life and he be thankful for dat. I'm sorry for de t'ings I said in de Church. I couldn't help it. Dey were honest words, but I know dey be out of line. I'm sorry.'

He presented the rose again. Rogue pouted, then bit down on her bottom lip. Remy could tell by her furrowed brow that she was thinking.

'Okay,' she said, finally. 'Fine.'

'Fine?'

'What ya said in the church wasn't outta line.' She hesitated slightly. 'Ah just don't have the answer…' But she had tried to find one. _'W'at if you fall in love?' _he had said. _'W'at if you fall in love wit' someone who ain't God?'_ These words had kept her up all night. They haunted her. _Fall_ in love? What did that mean? She loved many people in her life. She loved her brother. She loved Sister Munroe and Sister Betsy. She loved these children. She loved God. She knew what love was… but she didn't know what it meant to _fall _in love. She was not qualified to answer his question.

Remy nodded. 'Fair enough.'

With a serious face, she reached out and took the rose from Remy's hand. She stared at it for a moment, then grabbed Rachel's hand once more and led her into the crowd without another word. In her wake, Remy smiled.

'See?' he said, smugly, as he patted Nathan on the head. 'Dat's how you tame a woman.'

'By giving her a flower?' Nathan scratched his head, unconvinced.

Remy chuckled, and grabbing Nathan's hand, followed Rogue into the crowd.

**-X-**

Jean's house was small but comfortable. The front lawn was surrounded by a rickety white wooden fence, and was scattered with numerous toys. A stone pathway led up to the green door that stood open to provide the guests a welcoming threshold.

Jean and Sister Munroe stood in the incredibly clean kitchen and stared out of the window. They were watching Sister Rogue and Remy play with the children in the backyard. Rogue had Rachel on her back, and Remy carried Nathan. They ran after each other, playing a version of Tag that was popular amongst the young ones. Both Rogue and Remy were flushed in the cheeks. Both were laughing.

'Hmmm… now that's an interesting sight,' Jean said, watching the game. 'I don't think I've ever seen Sister Rose laugh like that.'

Sister Munroe watched them carefully. She was frowning, her brow wrinkled in contemplation. 'Interesting, indeed. It is starting to happen…'

She watched as Rogue and Rachel collapsed on a pile of leaves, giggling, while Remy swung Nathan into the pile as well. He held out a hand to help Rogue up. She took it, and as he hoisted her up, she stumbled against his chest.

'What's starting to happen?' Jean asked, as she watched Rogue step back apologetically.

'Rogue's destiny,' Sister Munroe replied, her brow narrowing even further. She was looking at Remy's face as he gazed after Rogue, who was leading the children back into the house. 'It is starting to turn.'

**-X-**

Remy leaned against the wall of the workshop as he pretended to listen to Scott drone on and on about his job. The women and children were indoors having tea, while he and Scott – whom he had been introduced to by Jean – walked around Scott's workshop adjacent to the house.

'It's not much,' Scott was saying, pointing at the new table he was building. 'But it's like a second job I can use to pay for the little things.'

Remy nodded automatically without really absorbing much of what Scott was saying. As he looked at the man, he couldn't quite understand how someone as pretty and vibrant as Jean – whom he liked very much – could find someone as boring and dull as Scott attractive.

'You know,' Scott said suddenly, looking at Remy. 'Jean almost became a nun, too.'

Remy looked up, surprised. 'Really?'

'Yup. When she was sixteen, she seriously considered it. It's not uncommon for some of the girls in this town to want to join the church. They're exposed to that lifestyle at a young age through church organizations and youth groups. Some get interested. Jean was one of them.'

Remy was intrigued. Scott was becoming a lot more interesting. 'What made her change her mind?'

Scott gave him a sly grin. 'Well, I guess you could say… I did.'

Remy smirked as he followed Scott's lead and sat down in one of the finished chairs. 'How you pull dat off, homme?'

'I'm not sure myself. I just plucked up the courage one day and confessed my feelings to her. I guess after that she compared the two lifestyles and chose me.' He was smiling. 'Bit of a fantasy, isn't it? Corrupting a nun?' He chuckled auspiciously.

'You be a lucky man,' Remy said, not sure what to think of Scott.

'More like a blessing than luck, my friend,' Scott said. He gazed at Remy critically. 'What about you?'

'W'at 'bout me?'

Scott leaned forward and looked through the door of the workshop, checking to ensure that none of the women were within earshot. 'Thinking of doing any _corrupting_ yourself?'

Remy sat bolt upright in his chair. 'Eh?'

Scott leaned back and laughed. 'Don't worry, Remy. I won't say anything. It's just… you're kind of obvious about your feelings.'

'I don't know w'at you're talking about.' Remy's palms were getting moist.

'I was watching you with the Rogue Sister and the kids,' Scott said, lowering his voice. 'You didn't look like a man without any intentions…'

Remy clenched his jaw and forced some composure. 'We just be friends, me and de Rogue Sister.'

Scott smirked. 'Yea, okay okay. But listen. Don't feel bad about it. You can't help who you're attracted to.'

Remy stared, assessing Scott with his narrowed eyes. Then he smiled. 'She _is_ beautiful.'

Scott grinned, his eyes warm. 'There's no harm in telling a person how you feel. Just don't expect anything in return. Sister Rose is very serious about her role as a nun. She's always talking about how it's her "calling". But if you plant the seed by confessing, and she dwells on it of her own accord… well, I wouldn't put you at fault if she changes her mind.'

This time Remy laughed. 'Assuming she's attracted to _me_, too. Somehow I don't see dat being a possibility.'

Scott shrugged and nodded his head in agreement. 'That's true. I coveted Jean _before _she had made her decision to become a nun. Sister Rose has already pledged herself. You might be better off just never saying anything at all.'

'Yea,' Remy sighed, running his fingers through his hair. 'I'd be better off.'

**-X-**

'You know, chere, I told Scott you and me be friends,' Remy said, as he walked with Rogue back to the Church. Sister Munroe was a short distance behind them, having left Jean's house a little after the other two. 'I wasn't lying, was I?'

'No, Ah guess not,' Rogue said, still holding the yellow rose in her hand.

'Oh good.'

The dirt path they were walking on was lined with trees on one side, and a row of flowers and stones on the other. The air around them was still, the sun nearly eye-level as it began its journey south. Rogue was being exceptionally quiet and Remy was not sure if this was a good thing or not. She did not seem to be in a bad mood, which was definitely a good thing.

He walked with her a little further before adding, 'you know, friends usually talk more den dis. Why you so quiet?'

Rogue groaned. 'Are ya always this annoyin'?'

Remy chuckled as he tried to keep up with her angry strides. 'You seem to get along wit' Jean's chil'ren,' he said, in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

Rogue nodded. 'Ah like them very much. They sometimes visit the Church durin' the week with Jean.'

'Kids are cute, I guess,' Remy said, the chicken from the market swinging from his hand. 'I've never really been exposed to many.'

'Ain't none in your family?' It was the first time Rogue had ever asked him a personal question. 'Ah mean… ain't there any kids 'round where you're from?'

Remy shook his head. 'I was one of de youngest in de guild. Some of us had de kids, but dey were always kept at home.' He frowned slightly. 'Never really t'ought about it.'

The Church was now visible in the near distance. The bright light from the sun shone on its stone walls and roof, the silver cross atop the tower sparkling against the pink sky.

'Ah love children,' Rogue said, staring down at the yellow rose. A petal pulled loose and slipped through her fingers. 'Some day Ah'd like to have mah own.'

She stopped suddenly as the words left her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. Remy turned to look at her, his mouth parted slightly in surprise. 'Rogue?'

'Ah…' She clapped her hand over her mouth, her shock at what she had just said evident in the trembling of her body. Before Remy could speak again, she ran past him towards the Church without looking back. The yellow rose lay forgotten on the dirt path where she had dropped it.

_W'at in de world…_ Remy stared after her in alarm, a cloud of dust trailing behind her.

'What did you do now?' It was Sister Munroe. She bent down and scooped the rose up from the dirt path.

Remy did not turn to look at her. His eyes were fixed on the Church. 'W'at?'

'Sister Rose. Why did she run off?' Sister Munroe continued to walk along the path, and Remy, comprehension dawning on him, followed her.

'She said she wants to have children.'

It was Sister Munroe's turn to stop now. 'What did you just say?'

Remy, who had nearly walked into her, seemed to have recovered his senses and looked at her imploringly. 'We were talking about de children, and she said she wanted some. Den she got scared and ran away.' Sister Munroe stared at him, her large eyes narrowed. She did not speak. 'Rogue wants children,' Remy repeated, his heart racing. 'Nuns don't have children.' His lips quivered, as if unsure how to react. How could a nun want children of her own if she was not in doubt of her current situation? 'Does dis mean—'

'Stop it.' There was such finality in Sister Munroe's tone that Remy stopped speaking mid-sentence. 'Stop this right now.'

Remy stared at her. 'Stop w'at?'

'"[A] just man falleth seven times, and riseth again: but the wicked shall fall into mischief" (1). Stop pursuing her. She will not be yours.' The tenderness that Remy had often equated with Sister Munroe's beautiful eyes was now gone.

Perhaps it was her disciplinarian attitude, or perhaps her suddenly unwelcome aura, but Remy suddenly felt rebellious and frustrated. 'Why not?' he spat, his tone sounding unnaturally aggressive.

'Remy, get a hold of yourself. Consider whom you are talking of. She is a nun!'

'She is a woman!'

Sister Munroe glared at him. 'Walk with me.' She pulled the chicken from his hand and began walking on the forked path that led away from the Church. Remy, his fists balled in anger, followed her begrudgingly.

'Talk to me about your feelings,' she said, after a while. Her voice was steady now, without a hint of negativity. When Remy did not reply, she added, 'I am sorry. I did not mean to speak harshly. But you must understand the position I am in.' She gave him a small, but warm, smile.

Her warmth towards him seemed to have returned, and this helped Remy to relax a little. Slowly, he began to talk, and after only a few carefully chosen words, the floodgates crashed open and his feelings poured out. He told her about his attraction towards Rogue, about how he had dreamt about her ever since he had first gazed into her emerald eyes. He told her how Rogue had at first intrigued him, but after spending some time with her, how his heart would swell for her. He explained the aching in his palms and the clenching of his chest whenever he was around her, and how he had never felt this way before. He also explained his own confusion towards the way his heart and mind reacted whenever Rogue was near, and his frustration over the fact that he could not control them.

Sister Munroe listened quietly, her face forward and her eyes lowered. Remy could not read the expression on her face, but continued talking until there was nothing more to say. He looked at her nervously.

At first she made no reaction. She continued to walk along the path, the chicken swaying by her side. When she finally spoke, it was in a low, soft voice. 'Is this love, then?'

Remy stumbled as he walked, taken aback. 'Love?'

Sister Munroe nodded. 'It must be.'

Remy gazed at her, bewildered. 'But—'

'You cannot control with whom you fall in love,' she interrupted, and she seemed to be consoling herself as well as him. 'It is God who weaves that web.' She placed a hand on his shoulder. They stopped walking and looked at each other. 'I cannot chastise you for following your heart. But I am worried.'

''Bout w'at?'

'I am worried that you are tempting her.'

Remy felt a heavy jolt in his heart. 'I—'

'But perhaps she needs to be.' Sister Munroe nodded, as if this was the reasoning behind her decision to let Remy be. 'I have told you before. Rogue was adopted into the Church. Although she believes otherwise, this decision was not entirely her own. There was just no other choice for her.' She started to walk again, but this time it was back the way they had come – back towards the Church.

'W'at you be trying to tell me, petite?' Remy asked, his hopeful gaze aching for the answer he wanted.

'I am telling you to wait and see.'

'Wait and see w'at?'

'Wait and see if she feels the same way about you. It is only after Sister Rose comes to terms with her own feelings that she will be able to make the decision. Who will she serve? Duty, or love? For the first time in her life, she will have a choice.' They had reached the gates of the Church now. Sister Munroe turned to Remy for the last time before entering the grounds. 'Be patient. Give her time. See what will be.'

'Easier said den done, petite,' Remy said, frowning as he ran a hand through his hair.

'"In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength" (2). If you truly love her, then believe in that love. That is all. Let Time do the rest.' She squeezed his hand and continued though the Church's gate, leaving him alone with his thoughts, his longing, and his hope.

**-X-**

(1) Proverbs 24:16

(2) Isaiah 30:15


End file.
